Post by Alice Wilde on Jul 8, 2006 14:53:56 GMT -5
Um...Akbar encouraged me to post this, so if you like it, praise him. Written back when the songfic swept CC. Was originally set to Sting's "Desert Rose". Features the two anonymous contributors of The 667er, brilliant Flaneur and literary genius He.
It's dark, so beware.
- - - -
Their mouths were open, hers hidden by the sheer veil hanging from beneath her eyes and his obscured by the large black hat he was wearing. They watched the flowers wilt with the heat as sweat ran down their temples. The marble veranda hovered above a deserted golden fields like a firefly. The candles lining the railing flickered as the wind blew her veil aside and his hat away.
They looked at each other. His hand moved toward her wrist, her eyes following the outline of his lips. He ran his fingers up her arm, to her shoulder, clavicle...
- - - - -
He awoke gasping and clutching his legs. He rolled his pajamas up to his knee for the umpteenth since that sunset, alone in his bedroom and staring at scars. The pillow heaved as he rested his head and thought of her...
“I am called femme anonyme. Fa.” She had pronounced it “fah”, as in do re mi sol, mouth wrapping around the name as though she ached to say his.
“He,” He had responded. “I am He.”
- - - - -
The lighter clicked as he lit the lamp in the hall. A portrait of a young woman hung between the library and the kitchen. She was clothed entirely in blue... bluish black like the smoke of that sunset. The young woman seemed to dance, sliding with the light, her face hidden by the veil, eyes piercing...
“Fa, I...” He breathed her scent in. Sandalwood. Fa’s cape slipped from her shoulder, her hair cascading down the light-hued silk on her back. She pulled him within inches of her body.
The first candle fell into the garden below as his lips brushed against hers.
He shook his head at the portrait, feeling his face drop in misery. The library was cold, all the books she had touched in a pile on a table. He sat, hating the immense wooden shelves around him and the word processor to his left.
All these things had survived, but she...
He swallowed. There would be no sleep tonight.
- - - - -
“We must stop,” She whispered, teeth moving across her lips as she glanced about the veranda. There was no one in the house...She sensed a different sort of danger. He began to disagree with her, but as she placed her hand behind her, attempting to stand up, that smell wafted toward him.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her back down. Her eyes studied him like anxious student memorizing the answers to a test. It was too poignant...he had to erase the look from her.
“What is wrong?” He traced her face, curving into her mouth. She held his fingers there, tasting him. Then, she let go, staring at the lowering sun. The colors of the rainbow splayed out before them but one very specific color had a scent.
“Something is burning,” She turned. “Something is burning...but I want to stay here. With you.”
“And I with you.” He clutched her arms. She pressed against him. The smoke grew.
- - - - -
Why had she wanted them to stay? He thought. He stood up, walking out of the library, to the painting again. The young woman, his Fa, had no expression...only the veil. Mysterious as ever. What sort ofmysteries drove her to the inferno?
Why hadn’t He stayed with her at the end? Even with the flames licking his flesh, he should have endured...for her...
He reached out and threw the portrait to the floor. His feet ran to the end of the hallway, past the French doors, out unto the blackened veranda. Acres of burnt foliage sprawled in front of him, just as she once had. The night hung over him as he screamed, fingers clenched on the weakened railing.
“Je t'aime, Femme Anonyme. Je t’aime, mon Fa.” He whispered as the railing gave away.
He was found the next morning in the soot and blood trailing from his contorted face.
It's dark, so beware.
- - - -
Their mouths were open, hers hidden by the sheer veil hanging from beneath her eyes and his obscured by the large black hat he was wearing. They watched the flowers wilt with the heat as sweat ran down their temples. The marble veranda hovered above a deserted golden fields like a firefly. The candles lining the railing flickered as the wind blew her veil aside and his hat away.
They looked at each other. His hand moved toward her wrist, her eyes following the outline of his lips. He ran his fingers up her arm, to her shoulder, clavicle...
- - - - -
He awoke gasping and clutching his legs. He rolled his pajamas up to his knee for the umpteenth since that sunset, alone in his bedroom and staring at scars. The pillow heaved as he rested his head and thought of her...
“I am called femme anonyme. Fa.” She had pronounced it “fah”, as in do re mi sol, mouth wrapping around the name as though she ached to say his.
“He,” He had responded. “I am He.”
- - - - -
The lighter clicked as he lit the lamp in the hall. A portrait of a young woman hung between the library and the kitchen. She was clothed entirely in blue... bluish black like the smoke of that sunset. The young woman seemed to dance, sliding with the light, her face hidden by the veil, eyes piercing...
“Fa, I...” He breathed her scent in. Sandalwood. Fa’s cape slipped from her shoulder, her hair cascading down the light-hued silk on her back. She pulled him within inches of her body.
The first candle fell into the garden below as his lips brushed against hers.
He shook his head at the portrait, feeling his face drop in misery. The library was cold, all the books she had touched in a pile on a table. He sat, hating the immense wooden shelves around him and the word processor to his left.
All these things had survived, but she...
He swallowed. There would be no sleep tonight.
- - - - -
“We must stop,” She whispered, teeth moving across her lips as she glanced about the veranda. There was no one in the house...She sensed a different sort of danger. He began to disagree with her, but as she placed her hand behind her, attempting to stand up, that smell wafted toward him.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her back down. Her eyes studied him like anxious student memorizing the answers to a test. It was too poignant...he had to erase the look from her.
“What is wrong?” He traced her face, curving into her mouth. She held his fingers there, tasting him. Then, she let go, staring at the lowering sun. The colors of the rainbow splayed out before them but one very specific color had a scent.
“Something is burning,” She turned. “Something is burning...but I want to stay here. With you.”
“And I with you.” He clutched her arms. She pressed against him. The smoke grew.
- - - - -
Why had she wanted them to stay? He thought. He stood up, walking out of the library, to the painting again. The young woman, his Fa, had no expression...only the veil. Mysterious as ever. What sort ofmysteries drove her to the inferno?
Why hadn’t He stayed with her at the end? Even with the flames licking his flesh, he should have endured...for her...
He reached out and threw the portrait to the floor. His feet ran to the end of the hallway, past the French doors, out unto the blackened veranda. Acres of burnt foliage sprawled in front of him, just as she once had. The night hung over him as he screamed, fingers clenched on the weakened railing.
“Je t'aime, Femme Anonyme. Je t’aime, mon Fa.” He whispered as the railing gave away.
He was found the next morning in the soot and blood trailing from his contorted face.